


&you'll never be pure again

by Anonymous



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Child Abuse, Choking, Emetophilia, M/M, Panic Attacks, Repressed Memories, throatfuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:26:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26028697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: He was fourteen years old. When he woke up, there was a pressure on his chest, and hands were knotted roughly in his hair. He tried to yell for help, but a hand moved quickly to smother him. There was no light, only darkness.
Relationships: Dick Grayson/Slade Wilson
Comments: 18
Kudos: 128
Collections: Anonymous





	&you'll never be pure again

**Author's Note:**

> Dick is fourteen years old in this fic. Heed the tags; you have been warned.

Dick has danced with death so many times, as Robin, as Nightwing, he tends to forget how often. The details grow blurry in the aftermath mix of dizzy relief and adrenaline. One moment, though, sticks out in his brain like a marked playing card.

_He was fourteen years old. When he woke up, there was a pressure on his chest, and hands were knotted roughly in his hair. He tried to yell for help, but a hand moved quickly to smother him. There was no light, only darkness._

_"Hush, now."_

_The voice was hoarse and deep._

_"If you scream, I will slit your throat. If you bite, I will slit your throat."_

Over and over, he remembers that phrase, and the paralytic dread that had frozen him in place. He'd only had his first kiss the year prior, and here he was, being exposed to sex in this brutal mockery of intimacy. For years after, he blanched when it came to going to bed with his partners. He steered clear of men, despite being attracted to them, because the trauma was too great.

_Dick didn't have time to wonder why he would bite, before his assailant was shifting forward to press his cock against Dick's mouth. He had no choice but to open it, seized by blinding fear. He couldn't move beneath the man's bulk. He slid his cock deep into Dick's throat, and when he gagged, he merely laughed._

_It was merciless. The man pulled Dick's head back by his hair, and roughly jackrabbited his cock inside Dick's mouth, holding his jaw open with his other hand. Dick began to choke, and the man pressed in deeper, balls pressed against Dick's chin. He was scrabbling weakly at his rapist's arms, trying to get him to stop. His entire body was convulsing, black spots in his vision._

_"That's it," the man rasped, amused. "Take it like a good bitch."_

In those moments, he truly believed he was going to die in the most humiliating way possible. He thought about his parents and he thought about Bruce, about Alfred, about Barbara. He imagined them finding out he'd died like this, and it only made him more desperate to escape. That kind of trauma lasted forever. Part of him wanted to talk about it, to have it out in the open so he could finally heal from his tragic secret, but the rest of him didn't want anyone to see him as some kind of pathetic victim.

_Dick vomited, throat spasming._

_I'm going to die, I'm going to die. His mind played it over and over, a terrified mantra. Dimly, he realized he'd wet himself in fear, pinned beneath a heavy weight, choking to death on a stranger's cock. He struggled to force air into his lungs, chest heaving, in danger of brain damage as he was deprived of oxygen._

_The man groaned and thrusted roughly into the warm, wet mess of precum, saliva and puke, before he spilled his cum right down all the way into Dick's stomach. He pulled out slowly, and Dick gasped for air, leaning over to spit and retch, sobbing his heart out._

_"Good job, kid," said his attacker nonchalantly. "Want me to call your daddy to come get you?"_

_"No," Dick attempted to shout, but it came out as a grating whisper. His voice was wrecked. The last thing he wanted was Bruce seeing him like this; overpowered, drugged and kidnapped, used like a sex toy._

He was left alone, to make his way out of the nondescript apartment. He never told anyone what had happened. He blocked it from his memory, when just the thought of it was enough to send him spiraling into a panic attack. Bruce had taught him to be strong, to allow the fear to wash over him, instead of wash him away. He told himself it never happened, until he was almost convinced it was a bad dream.

It took him many years for the memories to resurface, and the devastating revelation of his rapist's identity.

He and Slade have been working together for a long time now. Despite their uneasy start, they've developed an understanding and mutual respect that's recently become fraught with the possibility of more. Dick has found himself seeking out companionship and comfort from the mercenary, spending more and more time together. He had started to believe something was going to give; whether it was a rejection or a night of ill-advised passion. He'd never imagined _this._

He sits with his knees tucked up to his chest in the corner of their motel room, head between his legs to ground himself. When the door clicked open, he raised his head to fix his companion with a baleful, watery expression.

"I know it was you," Dick says. He's drunk, slurring his words. He had to be.

Slade closes the door behind him and turns back around, expression completely blank. In his body language is a tense, expectant impatience. 

"When I was younger, I was kidnapped, and someone," Dick feels the words get stuck in his throat, but he forces them out, forces the air into his lungs as the memory threatens to overwhelm him. "Assaulted me. Sexually."

Slade doesn't react at all, but some kind of light seems to die behind his good eye. 

"I couldn't see who it was," Dick says. He swallows hard, his mouth dry. "It took me a while to realize I recognized your voice from somewhere."

He clenches his hands into fists to stop them from shaking so much. This isn't anywhere near as cathartic as he hoped. He just feels sick, and so deeply conflicted, because ten years after his rape, he'd unknowingly become desperately attached to his rapist.

Slade doesn't deny it. Of course he doesn't. He offers no explanation, no excuse. He's never claimed to be anything other than corrupt; and his moral code might encompass keeping secrets, but violently assaulting a child is fair game. Dick suddenly hates him, a fury building inside him like flames licking up firewood. 

"Why, little bird? Do you want me to do it again?" Slade's mouth is a thin, smirking line, but Dick knows him, knows he is rattled and regretful. He's carried this for a long time. Perhaps it is a relief, that Dick finally remembers, that this is a chance for absolution. Dick wants nothing more than to refuse it, but he's too weak. He needs Slade. And he hates himself for it.

He looks away and doesn't answer, because anything he thinks he 'wants' from this man is hollow and false. For the rest of time, Slade puts distance between them, so that Dick can breathe.

But he has forced his way inside Dick in every way imaginable. The damage is done.

When Dick inevitably crawls his way back into Slade's arms, silent and shaking, the mercenary tells him, "I didn't know what you would mean to me."

It's so much worse than 'sorry'. It breaks his heart. He's too good to go after Rose, even though it's crossed his mind in the darkest depths of dissociation. He won't hurt her, despite it being the greatest path to revenge. So instead, he does the only thing he can think of. 

"Do it again," he whispers. _Hurt me. Choke me._

Slade tenses. 

_Good,_ thinks Dick, savage and bitter. If this will make Slade feel guilty, if it will make him feel uncomfortable and ashamed- that's good. 

"No," comes the answer, and Dick is ready for it.

_"Yes,"_ he corrects, bleak and heartless. "You deserve to relive it this once, because I relive it every day."


End file.
